The Basement
by Maelwaedd
Summary: Sam, Bailey and John discover the basement of a serial killer. My response to a challenge to write non-sexual, non-romantic Profiler fanfic.


Disclaimer: Samantha Waters, Bailey Malone, John Grant, serial killers, victims and police officers all belong to somebody who is not me. Oh, and I'm not getting paid.  
  
***  
  
The Basement.  
  
Samantha Waters twisted her straight blonde hair, then forced a ballpoint pen through the knot.  
  
"You all right?" Bailey asked twice before she answered.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You'll be fine," he reassured her. "You've got strong back up, and you're wired and vested." The van slowed to a stop, and Bailey repeated himself once more. "You'll be fine." Sam cast him a grateful look as he helped her out of the van. They jogged quietly, holding their bodies lower than the concealing foliage, to where a uniformed group of officers were waiting.  
  
The fact that this was a 'routine' operation didn't make it any less dangerous. The men and women recruited to search the isolated Michigan farmhouse for a high priority serial killer were risking their lives. Sam hardly had a chance to admire the beauty of the surroundings before she had to follow Bailey, again at a crouched run, to a thicket closer to the building. Gun drawn and body tense, she felt bulky in her kevlar. She ignored the discomfort: there was a building to search, and a killer to find.  
  
To their left, Sam and Bailey could see another three officers, hunch-run their way to the door. One stood with his back against the wall, one aimed, and the other kicked the door open. Hoarsely whispered commentary filtering through her ear-piece told her that another three officers had also breached the back entrance. Like a swarm of wasps, the agents and the officers sprinted across the cleared land surrounding the building, and filed inside to search the rooms. Sam and Bailey scouted around the edge of the building for hidden exits that the killer might use to escape.  
  
"Ground level clear" sounded through the ear-piece, then all that could be heard was the muffled noise of heavy boots trampling up stairs. That is, until the floor gave way beneath Sam's feet.  
  
The profiler's scream, barely started, was cut off abruptly as her legs hit the hard floor. She could hear Bailey calling for backup, and then the sound of his boots landing on the ground beside her. Agent Malone crouched by her side, scanning the room skillfully with both his eyes and the sight of his pistol.  
  
The sight of the basement was nauseous. From the beams of the ceiling, human bodies hung like sides of beef. The stench would have been overpowering, had it not been the bitterly cold northern winter. As it was, films of ice clung to the bodies, and the breath of the agents smoked in the air. Bailey reached out a hand to aid Sam to her feet, all the while staying more focused and alert than she had ever seen any person.  
  
"Are you okay?" John called out from above.  
  
"I'm--fine," Sam called out, still a little winded. John lowered himself carefully into the icy basement. His lips moved in a silent curse as his eyes scanned the carnage. There were even bodies propped up against the walls. A few steps further and he noticed that one of the bodies wasn't dead.  
  
"Malone," he called out, lowering his gun slightly. Bailey jogged to his side, and only just stopped himself from swearing aloud. Straining the chain attached to her shackled food and dressed in torn sweats, a bloody and shaking teenager was struggling to hide from the light of the opened hatch and the notice of the agents.  
  
John turned away, and quickly affirmed that none of the other bodies were alive - all but the girl were naked and, with the exception of those hanging, unbound. He returned to where Bailey was kneeling by the girl, talking in a low, soothing voice.  
  
"My name is Agent Bailey Malone," he identified himself, "and I'm gonna get you out of here." He turned and snapped orders. "Get… bolt cutters, or something to get her free. And I want it yesterday." He turned back to the shaking kid, his hand held out a little. "We're not going to hurt you, we're just here to help you. What's your name?"  
  
The girl remained tense, fearfully looking up at the man who knelt before her. Her eyes flicked to where John Grant was steadying a ladder that had been lowered down by the police for Sam to climb out on. From the sounds of it, he was abusing the officers for not having the bolt cutters handy. Or a blanket, for that matter. Nobody had expected to find a survivor.  
  
"Kiddo, I'm gonna get you out of this place, and get you somewhere nice and warm, okay?" Bailey continued to speak quietly to the terrified girl. "I know that you've been through a lot of terrible things, but you're safe now. See, I'm putting my gun away," he slowly switched the safety back onto his gun, and holstered it on his belt, "and I'll just check this chain on your leg. Okay?" He waited until she nodded slowly, then approached and gently twisted the shackle around her ankle until he could see the padlock. She flinched as his hands touched her skin, but otherwise let him.  
  
"Th-there." The dry and rasping voice shocked Bailey until he realized that the girl had spoken, and was pointing at one of the hanging bodies. "Keys--," she curled a little tighter as she tried not to dry-retch, "in her… mouth." The heavy chain rattled as she wept in fear and horror.  
  
The men were stunned, but John clarified. "The keys are in… the body's mouth?" he asked incredulously. Her head nodded, eyes shut so she could hopefully block out the room around her. "God…" John said, walking slowly to the necessity of retrieving the keys from a victim's mouth. Bailey moved closer to the girl, and gently stroked her hair. Outside they could hear Sam retching.  
  
John braced himself; the world seemed an even worse place than it ever had before. He gingerly reached between the corpse's teeth, and quickly snatched the keys from atop the dead tongue. Four paces and a dodge around a mutilated body that he didn't even want to consider, he cleared his throat and held the keys to Bailey. The older man took them without a word and fitted first one, then another key into the padlock. It fit, but didn't turn straight away.  
  
"Got a light?" his voice actually cracked. John looked a little confused, but reached into his pocket and offered Malone his disposable lighter. Bailey struck a flame, then held the key just over the flame. When it was hot enough to melt the ice in the lock, he released the lighter pad and tried the key again. Third time lucky: the lock cracked open, and he wrenched the lock away from the shackle, and tossed it aside.  
  
"That was… probably evidence," John hated himself for saying.  
  
"I don't care," Bailey nearly snarled. "You're free, kiddo. Come on, we'll get you standing and out of here in no time." The girl's eyes were once more fixed on his face, and she tried to cooperate as Bailey lifted her up. But her legs were cold and cramped, and as soon as she was on her feet, she stumbled forwards against him. Bailey picked her up gently and carried her to the ladder, still talking to her.  
  
"Just up this ladder now, darlin', and we'll be outside. And you'll never have to see this place again." She clung tightly to him; her arms locked in a near-strangle hold around his neck. Bailey carried her from the basement, accepting a hand from a nearby officer, but unwilling to let him take the girl. A female medic officer approached with blankets that she wrapped about the girl in Bailey's arms. She led Bailey back to where the vehicles were parked, along with an ambulance: Sam was waiting, pale but still in her kevlar vest, outside for them.  
  
"Are you okay?" Bailey asked her.  
  
"Get the kid to hospital, Bailey. We got the bastard. And yes, I'll be fine."  



End file.
